


Go Off Like a Gun (Bang Bang)

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gun Kink, Kinks, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-21
Updated: 2006-07-21
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Um...Sam and Dean. Kink (with guns!). Nothing else to know, really.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Go Off Like a Gun (Bang Bang)  
**Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
**Characters:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** NC-17. And possibly more than that.  
**Word Count:** 2, 608  
**Spoilers/Warnings:** Mentions of _Asylum_ ; incest, graphic sexual situations, gun play, bottom!Dean, language.  
**Disclaimer:** Oh, if only.   
**Summary:** Um…Sam and Dean. Kink. Nothing else to know, really.  
**Notes:** In celebration of [ ](http://kinkynicky.livejournal.com/profile)[**kinkynicky**](http://kinkynicky.livejournal.com/)’s birthday, I bring you…well…kink. And gun!porn. Happy birthday, baby! *snuggles with you*   
Also, shout-out to [ ](http://acostilow.livejournal.com/profile)[**acostilow**](http://acostilow.livejournal.com/) who inspired me in the first place.  
Used to fill the prompt: “Kinky” for [ ](http://community.livejournal.com/100moods/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/100moods/)**100moods**.  
  
  
  
  
Dean came awake to a burn shooting up his forearm, and lifted his head; eyes bleary and heavy as he struggled to separate himself from the hazy remnants of dreams. The second he understood what was happening, adrenaline burst through him and he let out a sharp curse, tugging at his arms which were effectively tied to the headboard. He dropped his head back on the pillow, breathing fast at the realization that he was tied up, flat and buck naked on a motel bed.   
  
“Christ, you look fucking pretty like that, Dean.” Sam’s words dripped with lust and promise, and goose bumps broke out across Dean’s skin as he craned his neck to meet his brother’s gaze. Unfortunately, Sam was standing just out of his line of sight, and this fact made Dean feel even more exposed. Shame should have been creeping in, but instead he could feel the blood filling his cock, hardening tender flesh until he had to grit his teeth to keep from groaning.  
  
When he spoke, his voice was gruff with irritation and more than a little desire. “Sam, what the hell?” He gave the binds across his wrists a testing jerk, but they stayed tight.  
  
“Don’t struggle,” Sam sounded amused, closer, and Dean bit off another curse when his brother added, “I warned you, Dean. Didn’t I? But you never listen…always have to be The Man. I guess this time, the joke’s on you.”  
  
Okay. He needed to fucking concentrate. Something was off here…not that Dean had any particular issues with Sam taking charge, so to speak, but Dean _knew_ his little brother, and therefore knew that the chances of Sam suddenly turning into a cock-teasing BDSM master were little to none. Hell, Sam still insisted they keep the lights off when Dean fucked him.  
  
“Sam,” he started, going for a reasonable tone which was lost the minute Sam stepped out of the shadows and Dean caught sight of his brother for the first time since waking. A strangled sound erupted from Dean’s throat, and his hips reacted to the view, bucking helplessly as Sam’s eyes held his. Sam crossed his arms, biceps rippling – and _Christ_ , when had his baby brother gotten so fucking ripped anyway? – and a half-smile tilted his wide mouth.   
  
“What the hell are you wearing?” Dean managed, wanting to laugh, but saliva was gathering in his mouth and he could barely keep his voice steady as it was. He was used to seeing his brother in layers upon layers upon layers; hoodies and sweat-shirts and flannel…not…  
  
“You don’t like it?” Sam pouted, honest-to-God fucking _pouted_ , and Dean swallowed another unrecognizable sound when Sam looked down and checked himself out. “Dude, I look hot.”  
  
Oh, Jesus. He did.  
  
And, okay, so it really wasn’t _that_ big of a deal. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, even…just ripped jeans and a band shirt. Dean had worn the same thing a million times over. It was just that with Sam’s lanky frame, the clothing seemed to fit…wrong. Or maybe a little too right. Dean was having a hard time deciding.  
  
When Sam sent him a questioning look, obviously expecting for Dean to agree with his statement, Dean decided discretion was the better part of valor for the first time in his life and simply grunted.  
  
Sam frowned, taking a step closer. “You don’t like it,” he complained, sounding whiny and frustrated and like the Sam Dean knew, once again. But before he could breathe a sigh of relief over _that_ , Sam grinned and bent down so that his face was level with Dean’s. “I’ll just take it off then.”  
  
Dean gulped.  
  
Eyes firmly trained on Dean’s stiffening dick, Sam came back to his full height, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his jeans and tugging the denim down. It got caught on the curve of his hips, and Dean flicked his gaze up to find Sam smirking down at him. “What the hell’s gotten into you, Sam?” he growled, wishing it sounded more aggressive and less _fuck me now, please, thanks!_  
  
“Curiosity.” Long fingers went for the zipper, and the sound of metal teeth slowly dragging apart warred with the ringing in Dean’s ears. “Have I mentioned you look really gorgeous like that, Dean?” Another tug. “All tied up with nowhere to go. No way to get there.”  
  
Dean’s eyes narrowed at the challenge in Sam’s voice. “You gonna give me a ride then, little brother?” he asked, voice pitched low and dirty. If Sam wanted to play games, Dean could give as good as he got.  
  
But instead of flushing and stammering as Dean had expected, Sam merely tilted his head and gave Dean a considering expression. “Maybe,” he murmured, then smiled. Slowly. “But you’re nowhere near ready for that…are you, big brother?”  
  
Dean hissed at the implication, jerking bound wrists again in near desperation. “Enough, Sammy,” he said hoarsely. “What’s going on?”  
  
“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam whispered, reaching out and stroking a single fingertip along Dean’s chest. “It’s okay to lose control. I won’t hold it against you.”  
  
And that was more than Dean could take at the moment. “Fuck you,” he managed, muscles straining. “Sam, you have six seconds to untie me or else—”  
  
He cut himself off when Sam turned around and walked away as if Dean hadn’t spoken at all, blinking when Sam turned on a light in the far corner of the room. When Sam picked up one of the pistols Dean had been cleaning before bed, testing the weight in his hand and stroking the barrel with his large palms, something inside of Dean burst into a million needy little pieces, and he began struggling anew.  
  
Sam glanced over at him, an unreadable expression on his face as he tucked the gun into the saggy waist of his unzipped jeans, and sauntered back over to Dean. This time, he kneeled on the floor beside the bed, bringing his face up close enough that for a split second, Dean thought Sam was going to kiss him.  
  
But his brother just scanned his features, eyes half-closed and lips curved. Then he sighed. “You can stop pretending, Dean. I know the truth, okay?”  
  
Well, that was fucking dandy, except that Dean had absolutely _no idea_ what Sam was talking about. When he said as much, Sam chuckled, hand coming out to cup beneath Dean’s jaw as he leaned closer.  
  
A breath away, their noses brushing, Sam whispered, “When this is all over, remember you said that.” He cocked his head just enough, so that his mouth closed over Dean’s bottom lip, teeth tugging. Dean’s lids fluttered, and he was pretty sure the embarrassing sound that filled the air was coming from his own throat.  
  
Sam pulled back a second later, and Dean chased his mouth, coming up empty and frowning when he caught Sam’s gaze. There was an almost regretful gleam lurking within his brother’s eyes, and Dean licked his lips pointedly. Sam sucked in a breath, and then shook his head. “No,” was all he said.  
  
The gun made a clanging sound as Sam set it on the counter beside the bed, and Dean just lay there; breath coming harsh and shallow as Sam calmly finished undressing himself. Flashes of the asylum incident were currently filling Dean’s mind, and he flicked his gaze back and forth between the 9mm and Sam.  
  
When Sam straddled his stomach, hovering over him with dark eyes and miles of golden skin, Dean swallowed in mingled want and worry. When Sam’s mouth began to lick a trail from his neck to his nipple, Dean struggled to remember the necessary Latin.  
  
“Um… _exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde, in nomine Dei_ ,” he began, pulling out the first prayer he could think of.   
  
Sam froze above him, and Dean’s heart nearly stopped, and then his brother laughed wickedly and surged up - warm, wet mouth pressed against Dean’s ear. “I’m not possessed, Dean,” he murmured, licking the lobe and reaching down to circle his fist around Dean’s cock. “And besides, that’s the wrong incantation.”  
  
“Damn it,” Dean muttered, arching his neck as Sam’s mouth found a particularly sensitive spot. His hips were rocking, seeking, and he nearly whimpered in frustration when Sam released him and sat back on his heels. “Sammy…”  
  
Sam’s cheeks were flushed, hair tousled, and he looked just as eager and desperate as Dean felt. And yet, Dean could see the battle for control playing out across Sam’s features as they stared at one another. Dean dug his heels into the mattress and lifted his hips again, drawing his lip between his teeth and giving Sam a meaningful look.  
  
Sam sucked in a breath, but didn’t move at first. Then, his hands fell on Dean’s hips and he stilled their motion, head lowering, and then…  
  
“Fuck!” Dean gasped out the minute Sam’s tongue touched his cock. He jerked at the headboard, half-amazed it didn’t splinter apart as stars exploded behind his eyes, and Sam continued suckling at him, slow and unhurried. Just the way Dean liked it. “Hey,” he whispered, broken and ragged, “let me touch you…please…”  
  
Sam looked up at him from beneath shaggy hair and too-long lashes, and Dean read the answer in his eyes. He wanted to cry out in frustration, but Sam’s lips were trailing down his shaft, and then he was mouthing Dean’s balls and Dean _was_ crying – or close to it – and Sam was making encouraging noises that vibrated through Dean and had him stretching and bowing and pleading.  
  
And then, Sam’s mouth went lower. And Dean, quite simply, came apart. He forgot about pride, control, _everything_ as Sam’s tongue worked at tight muscle and Dean rolled his hips and babbled. He was pretty sure the things he was saying weren’t making a lick of sense, but Sam seemed to be enjoying it, because whenever Dean paused to take a breath, his brother’s tongue would stop. And Dean _really_ couldn’t have that.  
  
This went on for a few of the most fan-fucking-tastic minutes of Dean’s life – adult or otherwise – and then Sam pulled back, lips and eyes shiny, and he reached for the pistol.   
  
Dean went still, then let out a shaky laugh that didn’t quite mask his nerves. “Sam, what…” he trailed off, voice shot as Sam drew the barrel along Dean’s stomach, tracing every divot and ridge with an avid expression on his features.  
  
“You’re such a hunter, Dean,” Sam said, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was admiration or scorn coloring his brother’s tone. Maybe a little of both. “You get off on it, don’t you?” he continued, pressing the gun into Dean’s flesh. “The risk, the thrill…I hate it, but you love it. Don’t you?”  
  
Dean bit his lip so hard copper flooded his tongue, but he couldn’t find the words to tell Sam to stop. He wasn’t sure what the hell was happening, but he couldn’t deny it gave him a rush. He _did_ get off on this shit, and Sam knew it.  
  
“I thought so.” Sam’s voice was soft, almost tender, but the look in his eyes was anything but. Dean’s pulse kicked as he read the hunger there, and then he nearly bit off his own tongue when Sam moved the pistol down lower, the cold press of the barrel against spit-slickened skin.  
  
“Sam,” Dean gasped, shaking his head and trying to shrink away. There was kinky shit, and then there was _kinky shit_ , and he was pretty damn sure that Sam had just crossed a line somewhere. “Please, please, please tell me that gun’s unloaded.”  
  
“You’re the one who cleaned it. You tell me.”  
  
That definitely should _not_ have made Dean’s cock jump, and he really shouldn’t have moaned when Sam started circling right at his entrance. A litany of pleas and curses spilled from Dean’s throat, and then Sam stopped.  
  
Dean watched through glazed eyes as his brother methodically disassembled the gun, tossing the main part to the floor and holding onto the barrel. Then Sam was placing it to his lips and ordering, “Open your mouth.”  
  
Dean didn’t hesitate, tasting cold steel and faint traces of cleaning oil on his tongue as Sam dragged the metal along his lips. Almost instantly, the barrel disappeared and then Sam’s mouth replaced it, catching Dean’s with urgency.  
  
“Fuck you, Dean, you’ll try anything won’t you?” his brother hissed at him, teeth nibbling almost mercilessly as Dean panted and groaned beneath him. “I bet you’d even let me fuck you with your own goddamn pistol.”  
  
Dean was shaking too hard to reply, and could only gasp into Sam’s mouth when his brother slid the metal up, just barely, inside of him. Sam started stretching him with the barrel of his own weapon, his free hand finding Dean’s cock thick and heavy against his stomach, and Dean was begging for something he didn’t understand.  
  
It didn’t last long before Sam made a rough sound of his own and threw the barrel to the ground, taking hold of Dean’s legs and bending them back as he slid his own cock inside. Sweat and tears stung Dean’s eyes, and he rocked back against his brother, relishing the fast fucking and Sam’s throaty little moans of pleasure.  
  
He felt vaguely back in control when Sam buried his face in his neck on a near sob, saying Dean’s name over and over as Dean gritted his teeth and took his cock with little more than spit and gun grease. Sam felt like a furnace against him, and Dean welcomed the heat.  
  
He managed to hold off coming until Sam breathed out, “Fucking love you, you know,” in between lewd gibberish and nonsense, and his back bowed up, hips jerking, come splashing across his chest as Sam growled in triumph, following him over the edge.  
  
Dean slumped into the mattress, barely noticing the ache in his arms as Sam began licking at his swollen mouth, hands soothing now instead of demanding. And then, Sam was untying him, and Dean’s arms fell with a groan, and he worked his shoulders while Sam sat up and watched him through hooded eyes.  
  
He expected…well, Dean wasn’t exactly sure _what_ he was expecting Sam to say – hell, what _could_ anyone really say after _that_ , except maybe _gotta cigarette?_ \- but he definitely wasn’t expecting what did come out of his brother’s mouth.  
  
He blinked, then asked for Sam to repeat himself, which his brother did with a somewhat sheepish smile on his face.  
  
“Happy birthday?”  
  
Dean stared at him, at the expression coloring Sam’s features, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or strangle him. After all of that…how Sam could manage to look sweet and innocent and goddamn _virginal_ , Dean would never know.  
  
Instead, he settled for, “Is it my birthday?”  
  
To which Sam scowled. “I can’t believe you forgot your own birthday, asshole.”  
  
“Apparently, that’s what I have you around for,” Dean answered silkily, enjoying the flush that highlighted Sam’s features. Then, he took pity and sat up, catching Sam by the shoulders and murmuring, “That was…well, it was kind of fucked up, Sam. But hot.”  
  
“Yeah, I know. I figured I owed you one.”  
  
And when the shit-eating grin stole across Sam’s face, Dean remembered a particular night filled with teasing and absinthe and fucking Sam silly, and he felt a blush of his own working its way up his neck. He cleared his throat, smiling wanly.  
  
“Yeah, well, you win, okay?”  
  
“Dude, I always do.”  
  
To which Dean grunted before pinning his brother under him, prepared to prove those words false.


End file.
